


Devşirme

by The_Dancing_Walrus



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Castrati, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, idiots being adorable, jaskier is a disaster, to be clear there is no castration scene in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dancing_Walrus/pseuds/The_Dancing_Walrus
Summary: 'The first time he saw Geralt was two days walk out from civilisation. In a stream.He was washing and Jaskier- Well Jaskier had never been very good at resisting temptation.And for the most part it had been much as he expected. Unnaturally chiselled muscles, yes, a plethora of scars, yes, an abundance of masculine hair-Jaskier wondered what precisely one was supposed to say in this situation.'My apologies for disturbing you, I assure you that your lack-' No that would get him shooved in the stream.'Was it from birth or do all Witchers-' Well perhaps he could say that if he didn't want to stay in this world.'I didn't know you were-' No that was probably obvious.'I'm sorry you were gelded?''In which Geralt and Jaskier are terrible at communicating but manage to work things out in the end.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 345





	Devşirme

**Author's Note:**

> Devşirme was the term for an Ottoman law, sometimes called the blood tax, which allowed officials to take children. The majority ended up in the army in corps such as the famous Janissarys but it's also been suggested that a small number were castrated and sold as eunuchs. The practice was outlawed in 1638 and is still remembered and resented in parts of the Balkans. 
> 
> The way the recruitment and making of Witchers was described in the TV series made me think of devşirme and it seemed particularly relevant to this idea. What I have described is, to the best of my knowledge, possible.
> 
> The timing of this fic is all over the place, sorry about that. Also- first time posting anything in almost a year. It's kind of nice. :)

The first time he saw Geralt was two days walk out from civilisation. In a stream.

He was washing and Jaskier- Well Jaskier had never been very good at resisting temptation.

And for the most part it had been much as he expected. Unnaturally chiselled muscles, yes, a plethora of scars, yes, an abundance of masculine hair-

He hadn't really registered what Geralt was missing when the Witcher had turned and that look. It had been downright murderous.

"Now I only-" Jaskier stepped backwards, the beginning of a poor defence falling out of his mouth without him having to think.

He was only checking where Geralt was. He was only coming to wash himself. Something along those lines.

He got- It wasn't exactly a punch, more a hard shove, for his trouble and landed on his arse in the stream. Geralt had grabbed his clothes and stormed off before Jaskier managed to sit upright.

He sat for a spell, winded with the cold water soaking through his pants and jacket. He wondered what precisely one was supposed to say in this situation.

'My apologies for disturbing you, I assure you that your lack-' No that would get him shoved back in the stream.

'Was it from birth or do all Witchers-' Well perhaps he could say that if he didn't want to stay in this world.

'I didn't know you were-' No that was probably obvious.

'I'm sorry you were gelded?'

Jaskier made a huffing noise, leaned forwards and splashed some of the water on his face. It didn't help.

He could wash. But the appeal vanished entirely when it meant getting back into sodden clothes.

After a while he got up and trudged back to camp.

-

Geralt was sitting by the fire making something that smelled very much like breakfast. Truth be told he looked no different to the day before.

Perhaps, Jaskier thought, it didn't matter. Witchers were not much given to societal convention, at least, not if Geralt was a typical example. For all Jaskier knew coming across Geralt bathing would have landed him in a river whatever the circumstances.

And he did very much want a hot meal before a day of walking in sodden clothes.

So he sat opposite Geralt near the fire and when it came to it all he could bring himself to say was, "I'm sorry."

"Hmmph." Geralt replied but he did deign to share meat, bread and what may have been garlic greens with Jaskier.

It was at least close to what Jaskier had come to expect.

So he said no more and they walked on.

-

May be they could have fallen back into their tried, tested routine and said no more about it. Gods know it would have been easier. The trouble was that Jaskier was, always had been, rather incurably curious. Terminally so some might say.

Geralt's next job had been near a town that was indeed large enough to warrant the name. There was a monster and there was money; Jaskier had privately concluded that the idea both were 'rare' was a notion that did not entirely align with reality-

The point is, was; they went to the brothel.

And it wasn't until they were both already inside that Jaskier's (rather inebriated) brain caught up with the proceedings.

Who in his right mind took their friend to a whorehouse when they knew he... lacked the necessary equipment.

He glanced at Geralt, or tried to around three of the finest ladies of negotiable virtue in the north. (This would perhaps have been easier were Jaskier taller or the ladies less generous). And once again Jaskier was struck by the utter lack of social etiquette to cover this particular... scenario.

Was he supposed to talk Geralt out of it? Tell him that he didn't have to... to prove anything to Jaskier or hide anything behind such a ridiculous facade. What would he even _do_? Finger the ladies to their satisfaction? It seemed a waste of good coin when you couldn't get any pleasure out of it yourself.

Jaskier stopped, caught in the mass of women and staring at Geralt. Which was ludicrous but then one wanted to at least delude themselves into imagining their friends were enjoying themselves. Surely it was selfish otherwise?

Geralt was smiling. And while it was not as wide a smile as Jaskier's, it was about as joyful as Jaskier had ever seen him. He didn't _seem_ uncomfortable, with one arm draped over an exquisite bronze lady who Jaskier could have sworn had been at his side a moment ago-

Did Witchers feel?

If they didn't then he needn't fear Geralt's discomfort or embarrassment. And if he couldn't fathom why a man of Geralt's.... physicality would patronise such an establishment; well it was not as though their relationship was entire devoid of mystery.

If they did though- Then it was possible that Jaskier had backed his friend into a rather unfortunate corner. No man with any pride would refuse because Gods help them the elves would be ruling in Cintra before a hot blooded young buck _admitted_ he might be able to conceive a better way to pass his time.

And feelings or not Geralt could be a stubborn ass. If he felt obligated then he wouldn't back out unless-

Unless Jaskier did first.

Fuck.

-

So he'd gone back to their miserable hovel of a tavern, alone. And Geralt had stayed with the whores and hadn't given Jaskier so much as a glance let alone enquired as to his health or feelings or-

It was possible that Jaskier was slightly put out by it all. But he handled it with a great deal of maturity and did not drink more then half a bottle of wine at Geralt's expense.

He did not wait for Geralt to return. No he absolutely did not. If he was still pacing in the early hours it was because the stewed vinegar that passed for wine in this atrocious over-built shack did not sit well on his stomach. Clearly he was afflicted. Severely. And if he happened to carrying on wearing holes in his shoes until he heard Geralt on the stairs then it was completely coincidental.

The door opened.

There was a really quite satisfying moment while Geralt just stood there in the doorway with his eyes wide and his expression genuinely surprised. Then he made a sort of grunting noise that really took all the joy out of the moment.

"Thought you were tired," Geralt said and there was absolutely nothing wrong with the way he said it. It was perfectly civil. For Geralt it was even polite.

And Jaskier went off like a sealed glass vessel left in a flame.

"Oh _fuck you,_ you insufferable ass! I made a complete tit of myself down there and you couldn’t, you couldn’t take the _hint_ if it I _nailed_ it to your hands!”

It was, Jaskier occasionally reflects, quite something to see Geralt of Godsdamned Rivia looking so very confused.

It took him a moment to shut his mouth. He turned ever so slightly away and let out a little tsking sound before he shut the door.

In retrospect Jaskier should probably have waited for him to do that before launching into his tirade.

There was a tense quiet moment in which Jaskier absolutely did not feel as though he was making even more of a tit of himself.

“Speak plainly.” Geralt grumbled and since the man had insisted-

“You don’t have _balls_ and you _barely_ have a cock,” Jaskier snapped, “now I’ll admit that I _shouldn’t_ have taken you to a whorehouse knowing that but why by all the Gods did you _stay_? What were you _thinking?_ ”

His jaw clenched for a moment, Jaskier saw it. Then he looked up, as calm and implacable as ever.

“Much the same thing you were I imagine.” The words came out a little tight.

Then Geralt was pushing past him and heading for bed and Jaskier wasn’t drunk enough to try getting in his way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Go to sleep Jaskier-”

“I will when you _speak plainly!_ ”

Geralt paused half way through taking off his boots. “We’re not lovers.”

He said it matter of factly and it hit Jaskier like a brick. He spluttered.

“ _So?_ ”

“So what I do with my _cock_ is none of your business.”

The armour came off more or less in one piece. And if it hit the floor somewhat harder then usual well Jaskier really couldn’t say.

“Oh so it’s none of my business that you’re _humiliating_ me in-”

“If you were humiliated then you did it to yourself,” Geralt snapped.

He was lying down by that point, as if he could make Jaskier follow suit simply by showing him how it was done.

“You can’t _even get it up!”_ Jaskier yelled, as if it was a personal insult, as if _he_ was the offended party.

Geralt put an arm over his eyes. “Put the candles out-”

“You _can’t_ -”

Geralt sat up. “I  _can_ . Now for fuckssakes Jaskier put the candles out and get some sleep.”

Jaskier certainly did not stand there dumbly for three minutes flapping his mouth like a landed fish and any of Geralt’s reports to the contrary were baseless slander.

“You can- _What_?” and more importantly, “ _How?_ ”

“ _Jaskier_ -” Geralt said in what was definitely a warning tone which Jaskier ignored.

“No really, _how_? I was under the impression that it was something of a requirement for-”

When Jaskier turned around Geralt was right behind him. Somewhat belatedly he remembered that, eunuch or not, Geralt was taller, broader and supernaturally strong. Geralt’s hands landed on his shoulders and Jaskier must have known before but the size of them, their strength, felt like a revelation-

Then Geralt’s grip tightened and he steered Jaskier across the room to the other bed. He pushed him down-

For a moment Jaskier thought Geralt was going to follow him but when he opened his eyes Geralt was already half way across the room.

The candles went out.

He heard Geralt move across uneven boards and he heard the other bed creak. He shifted to the edge of his-

“You’re drunk,” Geralt stated, “Go to sleep.”

In the end Jaskier did.

-

He woke feeling as though Roach had danced a jig on his head, with a mouth that tasted of vinegar and regret.

Geralt didn’t speak. Not as Jaskier groaned when he woke. Not as they packed up. Not as he paid the innkeeper. And Geralt often didn’t speak but there was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness in his jaw.

Witchers had feelings it seemed. And Jaskier had hurt Geralt’s.

And knowing that was one thing, but knowing how to repair the damage, that was quite another.

They walked in silence for a considerable distance. Well, perhaps not silence exactly, Jaskier hummed and hawed and every time he thought he'd found a semblance of sense he glanced at Geralt and the words slipped away. Like melting ice sliding through his fingers.

In the end it was Geralt who broke the silence. Not when they stopped for lunch. Not when they paused to let Roach rest. Not when the path turned rocky and Geralt dismounted, leading Roach.

They set camp late, the light had turned thin and grey by the time Jaskier had put up the tent and Geralt had got a fire going. They sat, ostensively next to each other. Geralt ate. Jaskier poked at his food. And finally, _finally_ Geralt said-

"Out with it."

Jaskier dropped his spoon. "What?"

"Whatever you've been itching to say since this morning. Out with it."

Jaskier took a deep breath. "Well it's somewhat harder to apologise when I have to guess exactly which part I'm supposed to be apologising for."

Geralt didn't say anything.

"Oh I see is this the game we're playing? The one where I have to keep guessing until you get offended and we argue all over again? Why don't we just skip the talk and start throwing things at each other now! It would save so much time and be equally mature!"

Geralt stood and Jaskier stopped. Gods but he was tall and now that he was increasingly on the receiving end of that glare, terrifying.

For a moment he was quite sure Geralt was going to punch him again.

Instead he took a deep breath, let it out in a huff and started walking.

It took Jaskier an embarrassing amount of time to realise Geralt was leaving. By the time he got to his feet he realised that it was well and truly _dark_.

Which wouldn't bother Geralt in the slightest, but it would leave Jaskier tripping over every root and rock when- Well there was never really any question about going after him.

"Geralt!"

He didn't slow down, Jaskier could still just about see him. He tried to run and smacked his head on a branch as soon as he was a handful of paces from the fire. It was pointless anyway, Geralt would certainly be able to outpace him if it came to that-

"Geralt!" Jaskier called again but Geralt didn't turn and he didn't slow.

So Jaskier stumbled on. At first he was afraid of losing Geralt in the dark and losing the camp fire behind him. (But Geralt wouldn't leave him to stumble blindly through the woods. Wouldn't leave him for the monsters or the wolves-) Then he realised that Geralt could have easily left Jaskier behind. Geralt could see, Geralt could set a pace Jaskier couldn't hope to match. For a while it made Jaskier angry all over again; that Geralt of all people was insisting on this ridiculous charade.

But there was an optimistic side to it too. Geralt could have vanished entirely in the gloom. He must have known that Jaskier was still hobbling along behind him.

And that meant Geralt did not want to be rid of him just yet.

In the end Jaskier almost lost Geralt because he stopped.

The trees petered out into thorny thickets and he couldn't see Geralt's dark outline anymore. He struggled through, sleeves catching on brambles, barbs pricking and scratching and almost stepped into the lake.

There was a moon out, gibbous and growing fat and there was just enough of a silver sheen that Jaskier stopped short of the water. He'd never find the camp alone, not now but it seemed unlikely Geralt would have gone for a midnight swim and so-

He groped his way along the narrow bank and found the Witcher sitting on the roots of a wych elm by the shore. His legs were folded up in front of him, his head resting on his knees. He stared across the lake and Jaskier couldn't guess whether there was something a Witcher could watch on the other side or whether he was staring at nothing like an ordinary man.

Jaskier sat beside him with a sigh. Geralt did not speak.

"It doesn't make you any less a man."

Geralt did not speak.

“And I spoke out of turn, and I _am_ sorry. Even though I can’t imagine why _this_ is what you’ve chosen to get offended over when I’m certain I’ve called you worse then _petty_ -”

“It’s not that.” Geralt said, low and quiet.

“So what is it then?”

“You were aroused.” Geralt stated, still staring out at the lake. “In the tavern. I could smell it.”

For a moment Jaskier had absolutely no idea what to say.

“And?”

“And I am _not a toy_.” Geralt snarled. 

Ah, Jaskier sighed.

“Well,” he pronounced, “you are an idiot.”

He heard Geralt turn; if he looked he’d probably see a snarl in the dark.

“Do you _really_ think I’ve only thought you attractive since I found out you were cut? Because that implies I’m the only one who’s been paying attention for the last- oh I don’t know, ten years? Fifteen? That or you’ve somehow managed to make it through the entirety of your existence thus far without being introduced to a mirror, something I’m going to have to correct the next time we reach civilisation-”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Only because you’re making it difficult to do anything _but_ mock you.” He sighed. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and if you didn’t already know that well then that’s-” 

He glanced at Geralt. The moonlight did just enough to highlight the square cut of his jaw, his broad shoulders. His eyes shone yellow in the dark like a cat’s.

“It’s ridiculous.” Jaskier said weakly. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt said and looked away.

“What do you want me to _do_ Geralt? Serenade you? With a voice that’s like ‘a pie with no filling’?” 

It wasn’t fair, he knew it wasn’t fair but it was one thing to believe that Geralt  _knew_ and had no interest. Another to know that he hadn’t noticed a damned thing. 

“May be I should have brought you flowers!” Jaskier declared, “Or silks-”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt didn’t raise his voice. Jaskier stopped.

“You’ve never shown the slightest interest-” In me, he thought. “In a man,” he said, “It’s just been whores and-”

And that sorceress.

Geralt sighed. “They’re easier.”

“Easier?” Oh Gods he shouldn’t have said that.

Geralt huffed again. “They don’t ask questions. They don’t judge. They don’t get disappointed. And they don’t get bored.”

Jaskier nodded once or twice and he tried, he really tried but-

“You realise that’s the kind of answer that’s just _begging_ for more questions? Desperately begging. If it had knees then it would certainly-”

Geralt breathed out. Jaskier stopped.

“Why would they be bored?” Jaskier asked softly. “Why would anyone be bored of you?” 

The wind came in cold off the lake and just as Jaskier had started to give up on Geralt ever saying anything he said.

“Because it takes a long time.”

“To? Elicit a response? Finish?”

There was a motion which may have been a shrug.

“Both.”

“Does- Does it actually feel good?” Jaskier wondered and Geralt must have looked towards him because there was that yellow shine from his eyes.

“Yes. Though I’d wager it’s not the same as it would be for you.” There was a pause and then Geralt turned away. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Pitying me. For all either of us know it’s better for me-”

“Well that does seem unlikely-”

“But you don’t know.” Geralt stated, “And neither do I.”

After a moment Jaskier shuffled closer. Geralt had found a spot higher up on the roots so when Jaskier leaned in his shoulder touched Geralt’s thigh.

“I don’t like thinking of you hurt,” Jaskier murmured.

“It was a long time ago.” 

“And it still bothers you. Or else you wouldn’t be limiting yourself to women you can buy and- Terrifying sorceresses I’d rather not contemplate any longer then necessary.”

That won him a sound not too distantly related to laughter.

“Why _is_ she the exception then? Why would- Oh. I suppose they do something frightful when they make them sorceresses?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Good! I don’t want to know.”

They lapsed into silence again.

“Geralt?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

It felt like a small, stupid thing to say. It felt as though any moment Geralt would turn around and call him a liar; either for saying it or for contradicting what he’d-

Well, in Jaskier’s defence he hadn’t exactly said it. More implied. Which was completely different.

Geralt didn’t say anything. After a while Jaskier sighed.

“It’s true. Whether you want to believe it or not.”

Geralt didn’t say anything.

After a while they walked back to camp.

-

They cooked and ate and by mysterious processes that Jaskier had never really tried to understand Geralt took care of Roach.

Jaskier moved their bedrolls closer together and if Geralt noticed he didn’t say anything. They lay less then a hand’s length apart and in a ballad they would have stared up at the black sky, the branches and the stars but in life their shelter got in the way.

“Are you,” Jaskier hesitated, the temptation was to remain vague, allow some semblance of deniability.

“Are you interested in me?” He asked.

For an intolerable length of time Geralt was quiet and Jaskier couldn’t hear his heart beat or smell his state of mind or use any of the other dozen little dishonesties life had gifted Geralt.

“I’ll think about it.” Geralt said finally. 

Jaskier intended to sleep. He did not achieve it.

-

He did not know when Geralt came to a decision. There was no declaration of affection, plain or veiled. No side long glances or hints.

Instead of two rooms above a tavern they had one, with a single large bed.

Geralt stood at the end of it like a guard who’d been on his feet long enough that they’d swollen and stuck in his boots.

It hurt. Somewhere along the way Geralt had come to see this as more risk then the monsters. And Jaskier had added to that, in his own small way.

So if he came up to Geralt with his jaw set and stubborn as if they were going to do battle rather then make love then it was to mirror Geralt’s expression and to stop himself from asking if Geralt was  _sure_ , if it was alright- 

They would hardly haven been here if it wasn’t.

And what could you do to make men of action listen?

Jaskier tried not to think about it too much.

He put his hands, softly on Geralt’s face and kissed him gently. Geralt’s mouth opened under his and Jaskier had half-expected Geralt to take charge but it stayed shallow, light and soft until Jaskier eased back.

“That won’t work.” Geralt murmured.

“No?”

Geralt’s hand came over Jaskier’s and moved it firmly down between his legs.

“If you want a response you have to be direct.”

Jaskier ran his fingers over the front of Geralt’s trousers, now that he had it under his hands the bulge felt like wool.

“Alright,” He murmured.

He unlaced Geralt’s trousers, then unbuttoned his shirt. He pushed the shirt back and let Geralt find a way out of it. Jaskier knelt to deal with Geralt’s boots.

Geralt stepped out of the boots. Jaskier took a deep breath, hooked his fingers in the waist of Geralt’s trousers and pulled them down.

It was much less frightening then his imagination had made it seem.

It was small, obviously but bigger then Jaskier had thought and thankful it didn’t look anything like a child’s. He had been afraid of that-

Instead it looked smaller, thinner but not terribly unlike another man’s. There were scars, a ropey line of them behind Geralt’s cock, presumably where his balls should have been.

Jaskier glanced up. Geralt had looked away, lips pressed thin. So Jaskier touched him, gentle but firm. He was still completely soft and there was a novelty to that, a challenge.

He didn’t harden as Jaskier moved his hand, rubbed his thumb along the head of Geralt’s prick. But some of the tension in Geralt’s thigh eased. He looked back towards Jaskier.

“Do you like that?” Jaskier had meant it to come out confident, sexual, instead it sounded nervous. As if he’d never fondled a cock before. 

Geralt nodded slowly. Was that apprehension? Even after all this time he was hard to read-

Jaskier turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He tried to imagine putting his mouth on a soft cock and his stomach rebelled at the idea.

“How do you feel about penetration?” 

Geralt shrugged, Jaskier could feel the shift in his muscles through his hand.

“It helps.”

“Helps?”

Geralt did not meet Jaskier’s eye, though from the hand gesture it was easy to see _what_ exactly it helped with. 

It was strange, seeing Geralt vulnerable. Naked in a way that had nothing to do with armour or clothing. Jaskier could hurt him with this and there’d be no pretty anonymous trinket to ease it away, no broach for a sword hilt.

Jaskier stood.

They were so close together, odd that that was the strange thing. He swayed there for a moment, as if breathing too close to Geralt's skin could make him drunk.

Then again for all Jaskier knew it could.

"Lie down?" His fingers brushed just below Geralt's collar bone and if Jaskier didn't meet his eyes well there was a rather fantastic chest in front of him that was somewhat distracting.

Geralt moved. The warmth in the air vanished with him. For a moment Jaskier's eyes drifted shut.

Then he was leaning forward until his hands hit the bed and he was crawling over Geralt.

Jaskier kissed him again with all the force Geralt hadn't used. He curled his fists into Geralt's hair and drank in the taste of him.

And later Jaskier might have considered describing it as tasting like risk, or lust but what was the point when Geralt would probably say it was garlic?

He pulled back, hard and breathless. Below him Geralt seemed untroubled by such things.

Jaskier stroked his cheek.

"Do you not like-"

Geralt sighed or possibly huffed. "It isn't about like or dislike. It doesn't do anything."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"No heat in your belly? No thrill down your spine? No-"

"No." Geralt said firmly.

In other circumstances Jaskier would have taken it for a joke but-

He sat back and shifted his hands to rub over Geralt's chest, to squeeze it and tease his nipples.

“And that?”

“No.”

Jaskier kissed a line along his neck. Nothing. Ran fingers over his thighs. Nothing.

He ran through a dozen body parts and as many skillful touches and it did nothing. The cut had robbed Geralt of any appreciation for subtlety. Suddenly Jaskier could understand why Geralt’s lovers might have found him frustrating.

And perhaps Geralt _could_ smell his state of mind because he certainly looked as if he was listing all the reasons staying in Jaskier’s arms was a bad idea.

Jaskier kissed him so that he didn’t have to look at that expression anymore.

Geralt had expected this, had been through it dozens of times. And he was wrong, it wasn’t boredom that would have driven his lovers away, not quite. Frustration, shame, anger- A moment when they realised that they would get no response and lashed out rather then admit their own failings. He suddenly felt quite sorry for Geralt.

When Jaskier pulled back Geralt still had that tense, cautious expression as if he was waiting for a blow. Jaskier moved his hand back down to take Geralt's cock, less a fist and more fingers and thumb. He moved his hand slowly, patiently. If he kept going like that then may be Geralt would see that Jaskier could wait. They didn't need to rush towards some imagined finish line-

Could Geralt ‘finish’? He hadn't said, not in so many words. Jaskier supposed he would find out.

He was still soft in Jaskier's hand but his expression had softened, the tension had leaked out of his body.

Jaskier leaned back, his hand still moving steadily on Geralt. He pushed gently at Geralt's shin until Geralt took the hint and bent his legs; let Jaskier arrange him with his thighs spread wide.

And if Jaskier had been a little more prepared then he'd have known exactly which pocket he'd put the oil in and would not have had to spend a good five minutes checking every single one and emptying out little scraps of song notation or spare strings on the bed beside Geralt.

Still he had the oil in his hands eventually and if he spilt a little over the sheets Geralt certainly didn't seem to mind.

He glanced up at Geralt's face and it wasn't nerves, no it couldn't possibly have been that.

Jaskier took a deep breath and pushed a slick finger into Geralt.

In some ways it felt no different to an ordinary man, tight and hot and eagerly sucking him in. But there was so much power in Geralt's thighs when they tensed either side of Jaskier. Like the cords on a ballista wound so tight that the wood creaked. Jaskier moved his finger slowly, gently, searching for that little lump. Geralt breathed sharply when he found it.

"Does that feel good?"

He didn't get words but when Jaskier looked up Geralt nodded slowly. And there was still that tension in his legs, that cautious look in his eyes.

Jaskier rubbed his finger gently back and forth over Geralt's prostate. He kept it slow, as he would with a man who'd never had anything up his ass before. For some reason he thought of Geralt stroking Roach's neck, calming her when he thought she might spook.

Jaskier kept stroking Geralt's cock. And it did start to stiffen and fill out. Eventually.

He stared at it for a while. There were a hundred questions he shouldn’t ask and as many comments he shouldn’t make. All the usual little compliments would feel barbed.

Jaskier dragged his hand slowly down. The head was beautiful, he decided, pink and perfectly formed.

Geralt’s cheeks had flushed, his eyes had turned so dark he might have downed one of those poisonous potions. His breath came raggedly and Jaskier was so, so hard.

“Can you take more?” He asked breathlessly.

Geralt nodded. His breath hitched when Jaskier eased a second finger into him. His legs twitched.

They started to go faster. It seemed like a perfectly natural thing; that Jaskier’s fist should pump faster, the his fingers should stretch and scissor and then start to fuck into Geralt in earnest.

“Jaskier-”

He looked up. The flush had crept down from Geralt’s cheeks to his chest and the look on his face with his mouth hanging open like an invitation-

Jaskier twisted his fingers and Geralt’s legs shook.

“Yes?”

“I’m ready.”

Jaskier grinned. “Are you?”

“Ye-Ah!” Jaskier twisted his fingers again and pressed.

“Sorry I didn’t catch that?”

“Are you _going_ to fuck me or not?” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier may have hesitated, but only for a moment. “Probably not. Not this time.”

He didn’t look up, but he could feel Geralt’s legs tense either side of him, feel the shift in the bed as he propped himself up. And Geralt didn’t exactly ask a question but-

“You said that people get bored of you and I’d wager that you’ve spent most of this waiting for the point when I’ll decide you’re too much effort. So I thought I should start by showing you that I _can_ be patient, thank you very much. And anyway these-” He waggled his fingers inside Geralt and the noise that pulled out of him was very gratifying indeed, “won’t go soft on you.”

“How long-” 

Jaskier shrugged. “Until you want me to stop. Or my hands give out. Whichever comes first.”

Geralt surged up and for a moment Jaskier thought that he had miscalculated, that he had done something very wrong. Then Geralt's hands were on his shoulders dragging him forwards and his lips were on Jaskier’s kissing with all the fervour and passion Jaskier had wished for at the start.

He wasn’t sure how long it took to coax Geralt to lie flat again. But that tense, skittishness, the sense of waiting for the moment it would all go wrong had drained away. And without it Geralt was generous to a fault.

“Shush- No- Come on- Lie back-” He murmured as Geralt tried to do for Jaskier all the things he couldn’t enjoy himself.

“Let me take care of you,” Jaskier said and the noise Geralt made went straight through him, small and low and full of need.

Geralt hadn’t exaggerated. It did take a long time. By the end Jaskier’s hands were sore and finding new, hitherto unforeseen places, to ache.

He found that Geralt could finish.

There wasn’t ejaculate but his toes curled, his eyes rolled back. He clenched around Jaskier’s fingers. And when his body fell back loose onto the bed Geralt looked up at Jaskier as if he was the most wonderful thing in the world.

“Does it leave you sensitive?” Jaskier wondered, Geralt didn’t answer but the noise he made when Jaskier moved his hand suggested that it did.

Jaskier did it again.

“Enough.” Geralt’s voice came out quiet, roughened and Jaskier felt more then a little proud.

He cleaned his hands and blew the candles out. Jaskier groped his way back to the bed and Geralt’s hand found his in the dark.


End file.
